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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809980">Out of Their Depths</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/msk/pseuds/msk'>msk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lewis (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mention of Child Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:22:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/msk/pseuds/msk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie would have known what to do, but he was on the other side of the world.  Others have to step in and care for James, and they are all in over their heads.  They are doing their best, but they are out of their depths.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lizzie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t you be dead, sir.  Not when you’ve made me care about you.”  </p><p>Lizzie’s hands shake as she tries to find a pulse on Hathaway.  She can barely feel it in his neck.   Her own heart is beating so hard, she’s afraid she may be imagining that the pulse is there.  She places the call for help, giving the location of the empty office where she found her boss.  </p><p>He’s so pale, his face drained of color except for his lips which have the faintest tinge of blue.  His hands are loosely gathered over his abdomen, and covered with blood.  She figures he must have been trying to staunch the bleeding before he passed out.  How long was he here, alone and in pain?  The coppery smell of blood is everywhere.</p><p>Lizzie unbuttons his waistcoat.   He’d had a white shirt on that day, but now the front appears almost completely red.  She unbuttons that as well.  It’s stiff under her fingers as she tries to find the source of the blood.   With his shirt open, she can see his chest rise and fall, though shallowly.  He’s breathing, he’s breathing. Thank God.</p><p>There is so much blood on his skin, she can’t see where it’s coming from at first.  Finally, she finds an area on the left side under his ribs, from where the blood is oozing.  She pulls off her jacket, wads it up and presses it against the wound, worrying that it is too little, too late.  She can’t tell whether Hathaway was shot or stabbed.  She tries to calculate how long he might have been lying there, bleeding onto the ugly patterned carpet.   </p><p>Three hours ago, he’d sent her off to do some research at the history center while he headed out to interview Harold Marbury, an insurance agent with a connection to a recent supposed accident that could have been murder.  With her research complete, Lizzie returned to the station to find Hathaway still gone, which was a bit concerning.  When she didn’t hear from him by the two hour mark, she tried to get in touch, but her calls went to voicemail.  </p><p>Luckily, Hathaway had a habit of taking notes at his desk on any bit of paper rather than digging out the notebook in his pocket.  She’d found Marbury’s name and a Cowley address on the back of a torn scrap of a report.   </p><p>She drove there, hoping she’d find him leaning idly against his car and smoking a cigarette.  She found only his car, parked outside the business office.  How dangerous could it have been interviewing an insurance guy?  Surely, getting sold a policy would be the biggest threat.</p><p>The door was unlocked, and no one was in the outer office space, where a receptionist would typically sit and clients would wait.  Lizzie called out, advancing through the door to a hallway where offices branched out.   All were empty.  She found Hathaway, unconscious on his back in the last room.</p><p>The silence of the office is broken by nearing sirens.  Lizzie hears the doors open in the outer office, footsteps and the sounds of a stretcher being wheeled in.  She calls out to help the paramedics find them.</p><p>She is so fixed on keeping her jacket in place, one of the paramedics has to pull her hands away from the wound.  “We’ve got him now,” he says, not unkindly, in her ear.  Lizzie lets him move her to the side and the paramedics seem to fall upon Hathaway like a shadow.  </p><p>She hears little snatches of their conversation as they communicate with the hospital.  She tries to gauge how serious Hathaway’s condition is from their talk, but “hypovolemic shock” does not sound good at all.  Things move quickly and before she knows it they are moving her boss through the door on the stretcher.  </p><p>The same paramedic who pulled her hands away is speaking to her.  “We’ve got him stabilized and we’re transporting to the John Radcliff.  You can ride with us in the cab, or follow in your car.”  </p><p>She chooses to drive herself.  She needs a few minutes to breathe and focus her thoughts. Lizzie wants more than anything to cry, but she can’t allow that.  Not for hours, maybe days.  Not until she sees her boss safe.   She digs her phone out before the ambulance pulls away and dials Joe Moody’s number.  He’s the only one she can call.  Robert Lewis is still in New Zealand with Dr. Hobson.  That reality hits her like a physical blow.   They’re returning in a little more than a week, but that may be too long.</p><p>Trying to control her voice, she tells Moody how she found Hathaway and that they’re on their way to the JR.   He tells her to concentrate on getting to the hospital and he will meet her there.  </p><p>She’s sitting in the waiting room, a plastic bag containing Hathaway’s odds and ends on her lap, when Moody arrives.  She looks up, fighting  the urge to cry at the sight of someone familiar.  He sits next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder.  “Any news?” he asks.</p><p>“They took him right into surgery.   I don’t know how long he was in that office before I found him.   They said they lost him twice in the ambulance.  Twice, sir.”   Her hands are shaking so badly, Moody takes the bag of Hathaway’s belongings from her.  “I’ve never seen so much blood where the person wasn’t dead.</p><p>He touches her forearm.  “Why don’t you go wash up.  I’ll stay here in case there is news.”</p><p>She looks down at her hands as if she’d never seen them before.  Hathaway’s blood is crusted under her nails, staining her hands up to her wrists, lining the creases of her knuckles.  Lizzie nods and walks down the hall.  In the woman’s toilet, she scrubs and scrubs her hands, and the water runs red and then pink but never completely clear.  It feels so wrong to see Hathaway’s life blood swirling down the sink drain.  </p><p>She looks in the mirror and sees a wide swath of rusty red across her cheek, like badly applied makeup.  She washes the blood away with a paper towel.  When she gets back, Moody tells her he’s given the case to Grainger’s team, both the original inquiry and Hathaway’s stabbing.  “He’ll be in touch soon to go over the details.”  She wants to argue but she knows her heart and mind would not be on the case.  </p><p>Moody goes off to get them some coffee.  It’s going to be a while before they have news.  “I think we need to call Inspector Lewis,” she says, when he comes back.  She pulls out her mobile phone to check the time on the other side of the world.  </p><p>“Let’s wait until we have more information.”  She thinks he wants to wait until he knows whether he’s going to have to tell Lewis that his friend is dead.</p><p>It’s another couple of hours before they know more.  The doctor comes out and pulls a chair around to face them.  </p><p>“You know Mr. Hathaway went into cardiac arrest twice on the way here.  The good news is, he made it through surgery.  The stab wound was quite deep, but there was no involvement with vital organs.  We repaired the damage.  The real threat is the dangerously large volume of blood he lost.  We transfused him to replace it, but he is by no means out of the woods.  Severe blood loss puts an enormous strain on the circulatory system.  Also, we could possibly be looking at brain damage.  The next 24 to 48 hours will tell the tale.”</p><p>Lizzie asks if they can see Hathaway, and they are granted five minutes.  They’re led to the Intensive Care unit.   The doctor tells them that they’ve sedated Hathaway to give his body a chance to heal.  He’s a little less deathly white, but he’s so very still and he’s hooked up to an array of machines.  But he’s breathing on his own, though with the aid of an oxygen mask.  She lays a hand on Hathaway’s arm as the nurse tells them their time is up.</p><p>They are shown to the waiting area for the ICU.  It’s more comfortable, with sofas and stations to charge mobile devices and laptops.  People camp out here, waiting for the few minutes they are alloted to see their patient.  A few family groups murmur together.  A television set up high on the wall is tuned to a game show with the sound down and captions displayed. </p><p>Moody goes off to find them some sandwiches as it’s nearly gone 9 o’clock.  She eats because she knows she needs to, but the food has no taste.  After they eat, Moody steps outside to make some phone calls.  He doesn’t seem to be leaving any time soon which surprises her. </p><p>She pulls out her phone.   It’s tomorrow morning already in New Zealand, as Lizzie tries Robbie’s cell number and then Dr. Hobson’s.  Neither number answers or even goes to voicemail.  She tries again an hour later with no more success.  It feels wrong that Hathaway might die and Lewis be unaware.  </p><p>She calls Tony, just to hear his voice, finding herself crying as she tells him about Hathaway.  She tells him how much she misses being a child where Mom or Dad would come in and take over and tell you what needed to be done and that everything would be okay.  Tony says being a grown up is rubbish.  She does not disagree.</p><p>“No luck reaching Inspector Lewis or Dr. Hobson,” she tells Moody when he comes back to the waiting area.  “I can call the path lab in the morning and see if Dr. Hobson left a local contact number.”</p><p>Moody rubs a hand over his face.  “I checked and Lewis is listed as Hathaway’s next of kin.  I feel like I’m operating in a vacuum.  I haven’t known James that long.  I have a feeling that years could go by and I wouldn’t know him any better.”</p><p>Lizzie laughs.  “It’s been a year and a half, sir, and I’m still finding things out about him.  I feel like I really didn’t get to know him at all until Chief Super Innocent brought Lewis out of retirement.  Hathaway is like a different person around him.  It seems funny, looking back.  I was going to put in for a transfer after the first couple of weeks reporting to Hathaway.”</p><p>“We had a briefing before she left for Suffolk,” Moody says with a chuckle.  “Jean told me he went through a few sergeants in a short while before she asked Lewis to come back.   What did Robert do that made things work?”</p><p>“It’s hard to put my finger on it,” she replies.  “Oh, he prodded Hathaway when he didn’t thank me for something.  And pointed out that Hathaway was insisting on doing everything himself, which was the thing that drove me craziest.  But really, Lewis just makes things smooth.  He understands people, reads them like the rest of us read books.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed that about him.  I wish I had his advice right about now.”</p><p>They fall quiet after a while, each in their own thoughts.  They’re allowed to look in on Hathaway again for five minutes.  There is no change, and she tries to take comfort that at least he’s not going downhill.  The lounge empties as time goes by, leaving only her and Moody and a couple of red-eyed young guys she takes for brothers.   Lizzie dozes off sometime in the early morning hours. </p><p>Voices in the hallway signal the change of shifts and she wakes, lying on one of the sofas with Moody’s jacket over her.  He is sprawled in an easy chair, arms crossed over his chest, long legs stretched out in front of him, lightly snoring.  The two brothers have left and it’s just her and Moody.  </p><p>Lizzie stretches and sits up.   Her mouth tastes like library paste.  She covers Moody with his jacket and goes off to wash up and make herself presentable.  It’s nearly 7 o’clock and she’ll be able to try the pathology lab soon.  But first, she stops at the nurses station and asks about Hathaway.   The night shift doctor at the desk is typing into a computer.  </p><p>“Mr. Hathaway is holding his own,” he says.  “He’s maintaining his blood pressure, which is critical.  At this point, every hour that goes by increases his chances.”</p><p>She nods a thank you, afraid her voice will betray her, so great is her relief.  Her affection for her boss surprises her.  It crept up on her over the months.  When she first met James Hathaway, she found him cold and outright rude.  His clipped tone when he deigned to speak to her made her want to smack him in the back of his blond head.  </p><p>She’d talked to Chief Inspector Innocent about a transfer.  She groused to her girlfriends about her tight-arsed boss.  She grit her teeth each morning as she walked into the office where no matter how early she showed up, he was already there, empty coffee cups dotting his desk.   </p><p>It was only after Inspector Lewis came back that she realized Hathaway had a personality.  She could finally see his wickedly subversive sense of humor.   He was more thoughtful than she could have predicted.  He brought her pork scratchings because she loved them, even though he thought they were awful.  He asked how Tony was doing, and if she enjoyed her days off.   To her surprise, Hathaway was an actual human being.</p><p>She’d worried a bit when Lewis and Dr. Hobson left for six months, afraid that Hathaway would revert to his previous taciturn self.  But while he seemed to look around the office as if hoping Lewis might walk through the door any minute, Hathaway tried to stay engaged with her.  He even went out with her and her friends a couple of times, which was a little tense at first since she’d vented to some of those same friends about her aggravating boss.</p><p>They have to try and reach Inspector Lewis.  She and Moody are clearly out of their depth in this situation.  </p><p>She takes a chance and finds the pathology lab number in her phone’s history.  It’s not even 8 o’clock, but someone picks up when she calls.  Better yet, it’s Dr. Hobson’s assistant, who has Hobson’s sister’s mobile number.  She calls the number and is relieved to hear a woman’s voice.</p><p>She returns to the waiting room to find Moody stretching and yawning.  She tells him that Hathaway is hanging in there, and fills him in on the Lewis situation.</p><p>“Sir, I spoke with Dr. Hobson’s sister,”  she says.  “Inspector Lewis and Dr. Hobson are sightseeing in a fairly remote area with very sketchy mobile service.  She expects them back some time tomorrow.  I’ll keep trying though, in case they pass through an area with better reception.  And I’ve sent them both emails in case they have internet service but not mobile.”</p><p>Moody suggests they get a proper breakfast since Hathaway seems to be relatively stable.  The hospital cafe is far too bright and cheery but the coffee is good.  Lizzie finds she is starving as she digs into her breakfast.</p><p>“We may not be able to talk to Lewis for days,” Moody says.  “Hathaway has a sister, doesn’t he?  I think we met her at the funeral.”</p><p>“Yes.  Nell.  But I don’t think they’re close.”  </p><p>Hathaway’s father died a couple of months into Lewis’ trip.  Hathaway had been quiet about the whole thing, only telling Moody he’d be out for a week or so.  But Lizzie had been aware of his father’s decline and figured it out.  She and Moody and a few others went to the funeral to support Hathaway.  He’d seemed shocked to see his coworkers, looking over his shoulder a few times during the service as if he might have imagined them.  Hathaway hadn’t called Lewis until after the funeral.  He didn’t want to tempt his friend to cut the trip short.</p><p>“They seemed fairly cordial to me,” Moody says.  “And I’ve seen plenty of family drama at funerals.”</p><p>“Maybe they made up, but I took some pretty angry messages from her when their dad was still alive.”</p><p>“If it was my brother, I’d want to know, even if we weren’t speaking.”</p><p>“Okay,” she says as she pulls out Hathaway’s phone.  “You’re right.  Her number should be in here.  Do you want me to call her?”</p><p>“No.  I’ll do it.  If Hathaway is going to get angry, let it be with me.”</p><p>She smiles as she pulls up the number for Moody.  Let Hathaway be well and healthy enough for a proper tantrum and she’ll happily let him stamp his feet and let fly with a string of curse words.</p><p>“You must have stuff to do at the station, sir,” she says.  </p><p>“I do and I’ll go in later.  Why don’t you go home and rest for a couple of hours.  And in the meantime, I’ll call Ms. Hathaway.”</p><p>She heads home and takes the world’s longest and most wonderful shower.  She sets her phone alarm to go off in two hours.  Even though she rested for a few hours at the hospital, she sleeps hard until the alarm sounds.  </p><p>Moody calls as he’s leaving the hospital, with news that Hathaway’s vitals are still good, and that there is talk of moving him into the step down unit from ICU since he’s showing signs of improvement.  Oh, and Nell Hathaway is on her way.   </p><p>When Lizzie gets back to the hospital, it is late morning.   There she finds Hathaway is not alone.  Lizzie waits in the doorway watching as Nell stands at her brother’s bed.   Lizzie is struck again by how very similar they are in appearance, both tall, angular and fair.</p><p>“Damn you, James.  Damn you, damn you, damn you,” Nell says, voice low and thick with emotion.  She brushes Hathaway’s hair off his forehead, her hand coming around to cup his cheek.   “Leaving me behind again.”</p><p>“Nell?” Lizzie says, as she enters the room.  “I’m Lizzie Maddox, DI Hathaway’s sergeant.”</p><p>“Yes,” Nell replies, blinking back the tears in her eyes as she turns around.  “We met at Dad’s funeral.”  She extends a hand which Lizzie takes between both of hers.  </p><p>There are a couple of chairs in the room, and Lizzie thinks maybe in light of Hathaway's improvement, the nurse won’t shoo them out.  She sits and Nell follows.  </p><p>“Mr Moody says you found James,” Nell says.  “He said you saved his life.”</p><p>“I don’t know about that.  I just noticed he’d been gone a bit too long and went looking for him.” </p><p>“I’m very grateful.  I...I don’t think I could have faced losing James so soon after Dad.  I know he’s not in the clear yet.”  Nell’s eyes stray back to her brother’s still form.</p><p>“He’s doing better,” Lizzie assures her.  “They’re moving him out of Intensive Care.”</p><p>“I still don’t understand why he joined the police,” Nell says, shaking her head.  “Then again, I never understood why he wanted to be a priest.  Did you know he studied for the priesthood?”  </p><p>“He mentioned it once,” Lizzie says.   He had been quite drunk when he dropped that little tidbit.   “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if he was being funny.  He’s quite the joker, you know.”   </p><p>“My brother?” Nell says, shaking her head.  “James doesn’t make jokes, at least not around me.”</p><p>“Oh he’s very quick and witty, though mostly when he’s around Inspector Lewis.  I call the pair of them the “Chuckle Brothers.”</p><p>“James brought Inspector Lewis with him to the care home once.  They took Dad fishing.  He talked about it for days.  It was very kind.”</p><p>“DI Lewis is a great guy.  He’s out of the country right now.  We haven’t been able to tell him about your brother.  At least now, I can tell him how much better he’s doing.”</p><p>They chat a while, comparing notes on Hathaway until a couple of hospital workers and a nurse come in.  “We’re moving Mr. Hathaway to the step down unit.  His sedation has been reduced, so he should begin to come around, though the pain meds will keep him sleepy.”</p><p>They wheel the bed down the hall, the Lizzie and Nell following like bridesmaids.   They arrive at another area, much more a typical hospital ward.   The movement has made Hathaway restless, his hands twitching every now and then.   He moans a little and then settles down again.   Lizzie leaves Nell by the bedside to call the office.   </p><p>“Can I bring you a tea or coffee when I come back?”    Nell shakes her head before turning back to watch her brother.</p><p>Lizzie talks to Moody, bringing him up to date on Hathaway.   “That’s good to hear.  When he comes around, let me know and I’ll send Grainger.  Did Nell come?”  </p><p>“She’s here.  Pretty shaken up, poor thing.  She just lost her dad and now she almost loses her brother.”    </p><p>She returns to Hathaway’s room as he continues in his restlessness.  After a couple of hours, he starts to come around in earnest.  His fingers pluck at the blanket and his legs shift under the covers.   Nell stands by the bed, trying to still his hands.  His eyes open as he comes to consciousness.   Hathaway blinks as he looks up into his sister’s face.</p><p>“Am I in hell?” he asks, sleepily.   His voice sounds rough from disuse.  </p><p>“Were you expecting heaven?” Nell asks, with a bit of an edge. James shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.  “Good, then you’ll not be disappointed.  Are you thirsty?”  </p><p>“Yeah,” he says.  Nell pushes the button to raise the bed a little and helps him drink from a plastic cup that the nurse had left ready.  </p><p>“Would the devil give you a sip of water in hell, do you think?”  </p><p>“I suppose not, “ he says with a slightly loopy smile.   “Thank you.”</p><p>Nell turns and beacons Lizzie to come closer.  “You gave us all a scare, sir,” she says.   “Do you remember what happened?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, with a sigh.  “Marbury.  He panicked when I questioned him.  He was obviously more involved than we thought.  I should have figured…should have realized...”  He seems to be getting agitated as he tries to remember.</p><p>“It’s okay, sir.  Just rest,” Lizzie says.  “Grainger will be by to get your statement later.”  </p><p>Nell pushes the call button to let the nurse know James is awake.   For the next hour, Hathaway is seen by doctors and assessed while Lizzie and Nell sit in the waiting room.  Both of them are slightly giddy with relief.  “I’d open a bottle of champagne if I had one,” Lizzie says.  </p><p>The doctor comes to tell them the news is all good.   Hathaway’s cognitive abilities are intact, which means he is still the smartest person in just about any room.  His other organs are all functioning normally.  The danger was from the blood loss and as that was now resolved, a full recovery is expected.  According to the doctor, being young and athletic had helped him to escape permanent damage, smoking habit notwithstanding.</p><p>Hathaway grows tired very quickly after the examination.  As his eyes start to close, Lizzie decides to return to the office for a few hours, promising Nell that she will be back the next morning.   </p><p>The relief around the station is palpable.  Lizzie can’t walk two feet before someone tells her how happy they are to hear that Hathaway is on the mend.  More embarrassing are the hand shakes as her coworkers say she saved her boss’ life.  She didn’t do anything more than any other officer would have done.  If she deserves credit, it’s for being a worryguts.  </p><p>She meets with Grainger and Moody, going over the details of the case.  Grainger has issued an all ports warning for Marbury, who turned out to be the secret lover of the victim’s wife.  Marbury had falsified the signature on the large insurance policy for the deceased.  As it was still early in the investigation, Hathaway had not made the connection before he went to the interview.  The wife was now in custody. </p><p>Lizzie tells them that her boss was still a bit fuzzy headed, so Grainger agrees to wait until the next morning and interview Hathaway.   Moody insists she go home and make an early night of it, for which Lizzie is grateful.  </p><p>The next morning, Lizzie is walking into the hospital when her phone rings.  It’s Inspector Lewis, who sounds extremely worried.   As she makes her way through the hospital, Lizzie tells him about finding Hathaway, and how he is finally out of danger and conscious.   And she tells Lewis that she and Moody called Nell.</p><p>“Hathaway might not thank you for that, lass,” Lewis says.  </p><p>“He almost died, sir,” she replies, tearing up as she remembers how terrified she had felt.  “He flatlined twice in the ambulance.  We didn’t know what to do.”</p><p>“I am so sorry you had to deal with that on your own,” he says.  “I would have done the same thing and called her.”</p><p>“I can only imagine what she’s going through.”</p><p>“You and Moody did the right thing, Lizzie.  Tell James I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”</p><p>She arrives at Hathaway’s room and sees that he is awake.  “You can tell him yourself, sir.  He’s right here.”  </p><p>She hands her phone to Hathaway, who had been picking at a bland looking breakfast.  He breaks into a big smile when he hears Lewis’ voice.   </p><p>“I’m fine, Robbie,” Hathaway says.  “I walked the length of the hall this morning.  Feel totally knackered now, but honestly, I’m doing well.  The doctor said I can probably get out of here in a few days.”</p><p>“Somehow I think you’re downplaying the whole thing, but I’m glad you’re on the mend.  So, I understand your sister has been by.  How has that been going.” </p><p> Lizzie can hear Lewis through the phone as if it was on speaker.  He is from a generation when people believed long distance required a loud voice.</p><p>“A bit of a mindfield, but not awful.   Nell’s attitude fluctuates between genuine concern and simmering rage.”</p><p>“Sounds like you could use reinforcements.   Laura and I are going to change our flight.  We’ll leave here as soon as we can.”  </p><p>“Robbie, that’ll cost a fortune in fees.  You leave in less than a week anyway.   You’ll be coming home to watch me sleep.   Please just travel on your original schedule.”</p><p>“What about when you’re released?” Lewis asks.   </p><p>“Nell and I talked last night.  She’ll take time from work and stay with me for a few days.”  Lizzie raises her hand.  “And I think Maddox is signaling that she will help.”</p><p>“You’re sure?  Laura and I will pitch in when we get home.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, Robbie.  One thing though.  If I seem to be missing when you get home…”</p><p>“I know, I know.  Check the garden for a long narrow James shaped mound of fresh soil.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She was in way over her head with James.  He wasn’t well and she couldn’t seem to find the patience to deal with him.  Her fear was that they would torch the remaining shreds of their relationship and never speak again.  This seemed both tragic and inevitable.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed a shame, Nell thought, that after very nearly dying and making it this far on the path to recovery, James was in danger of being smothered with a pillow.  Luckily for him, when he slept, he resembled the beautiful sweet boy he’d been more than twenty years ago, and so far she’d spared him the pillow.  James awake, was a different story: cranky, stubborn, insulting and in danger of being bludgeoned.</p><p>She’d offered to stay with James when he was released from the hospital during the period when she was reeling from almost losing him and he was drugged and compliant and grateful to be alive.  Those golden few days of tenderness and relief did not last.  Soon, James became increasingly irritable while in the hospital.   Nell was sure most of that had to do with boredom and nicotine withdrawal.  He wasn’t in pain at this point as he was receiving medication via IV.  </p><p>She and James did not get along.  They had not gotten along for the entirety of their adult lives.  Oh, there had been a brief truce at the end of their father’s life when they had put aside their differences to care for him.  But once the funeral was over, they had retreated to their neutral corners.   </p><p>Getting that call from James’ boss, hearing that her brother might die, had felt like being immersed in ice water.  Fear and anger had warred within her.  How could she survive losing James?   How could he do this to her?   How could he leave her alone again? </p><p>She hadn’t thought that as a detective her brother would be in danger.  In her mind, detectives operated at a safe distance from the criminals, detecting.   Police work had seemed like such an odd choice for a man who had discerned for the priesthood.  When they were children, James had played cops and robbers with the boys on the estate.  Sometimes Nell thought he was still running around with a bloody cap pistol.  And now, damn him, he’d come close to dying.</p><p>The arguments started as soon as she brought him home from the hospital.  He’d given her his keys the day before so she could stock the fridge and get fresh sheets on his bed.   She’d been in his flat months before when she’d brought a bunch of boxes from their father’s house.  Boxes, she recalled, that he had not lifted a finger to carry in, the lazy sod.</p><p>James’ flat was rather a tip.  Not dirty, not at all.  The bathroom and kitchen were clean enough, signalling that he probably had a service come in periodically.  But the books and pictures and odds and ends from their father’s house had not moved from where they were when she first brought them over.  </p><p>She’d found three empty wine and two empty beer bottles and half a dozen dirty glasses on various surfaces in the living room.  Interestingly, she found no plates lying around.  Either James was better about putting them in the dishwasher, or he hadn’t been eating.  At least not at home.</p><p>There were crime scene photos, police reports and files spread out over his desk.  Books on Greek mythology lay open, some with sticky notes in James’ scrawl.  The flat was clearly a place that James didn’t spend much time in and when he was there, he didn’t bother to tidy.  </p><p>So, Nell had tidied.  Not a complete Marie Kondo, of course.  She didn’t get rid of a single scrap of paper, but she organized and put things in logical places.  It hadn’t seemed logical to have a pile of poetry books on the kitchen counter, so she put them on the bookshelf in the living room.  The sofa had little piles of papers, books, and file folders strewn about.  How was she going to sleep on the sofa with all that detritus.  So she found an empty basket in which to stack it all.  </p><p>Instead of thanking her, James had been furious.  Upon walking into his flat, he glared around the living room, leaning heavily on the cane he’d fought the physical therapist about using.  He hadn’t taken off his coat and it was already going badly.   </p><p>“What the hell have you done, Nell?” he’d shouted.  “I asked you not to touch anything and here you’ve gone through with a backhoe.”</p><p>“You told me not to touch your desk.  I didn’t touch a thing on your desk.  You never said the little piles of paper and books and empty crisp bags on the sofa needed to be remain in situ.”  Regrettably, her own voice was a bit shrill when she’d said this.</p><p>He’d obviously been in pain, what with getting in and out of the car and the walk to the door.   They’d stopped at the chemist on the way home from the hospital.  James had waited in the car, but it took forever to get his medications ready, which did little to improve his mood.   He was overdue for his meds and worn out.</p><p>The thing that really struck the match and set everything on fire was the damn cigarette issue.   The almost empty packet that James had on him when he was stabbed went missing somewhere along the way.   On getting home, James had stomped around and scrabbled through every drawer in the flat but couldn’t find any backup ciggies.  </p><p>“You fucking threw them out, didn’t you?” he’d hissed at Nell.  </p><p>“I did not,” she’d replied.  “I might have liked to, but I didn’t see any.  And there is no reason to get vulgar.”</p><p>“I’ve been hanging by a fucking thread since I came to,” he said, running his hands through his hair, leaving it in little tufts.  “The thought of that first blessed fucking cigarette in my own fucking house was all that was holding me together.”</p><p>“The doctor said your wound would heal better if you didn’t smoke.”   </p><p>The look on James' face knocked out any righteous indignation she might have been harboring.  He was miserable.  Frighteningly, shockingly miserable.  With a deep sigh, she grabbed her coat and wallet.  “I won’t be long,” she said, closing the door behind her.</p><p>She walked the half mile to a little corner store.  She might have taken the car, but she needed to burn off her anger.   She was in way over her head with James.  He wasn’t well and she couldn’t seem to find the patience to deal with him.  Her fear was that they would torch the remaining shreds of their relationship and never speak again.  This seemed both tragic and inevitable.</p><p>As she stood at the counter and looked at the array of cigarettes, it occurred to her that she didn’t know which brand James smoked and she certainly wasn’t going to call and ask him.  She had a vague memory of a red and white box, but at least five brands had that color combination.  She chose one at random and bought two packages.   He could either smoke them or go without as far as she was concerned.</p><p>As she walked back, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, she wondered how things had ever gotten this far off track.  The rage that burned within her was destructive, but so was the distance she and James had put between themselves.   Was it just stupid English reserve that had them so deep in their cocoons that they could no longer make a connection?  They hadn’t always been like this.</p><p>She had found a photograph when they were packing up their father’s house.   In it James was probably ten or eleven, which would make her five or six.  They were at the seashore, but she didn’t remember the location.  The water sparkled behind the two children, who were brown as berries, their hair bleached white by the sun.  James had a pensive, rather self-conscious smile, but Nell wore a full on cheeky grin.   And she hung onto her brother’s hand like this was the best day of her whole life.  What happened to those children?   </p><p>When she got back to the flat, James was on the sofa, hunched over, his long arms wrapped around his middle.  He looked up at her with desperate eyes as she handed him the cigarettes.  </p><p>“Please open a window when you smoke, all right,” she said in resignation.</p><p>He nodded.  “Thank you.”</p><p>She hung up her coat in the closet and headed for the kitchen.  Nell had brought in the groceries the day before, after noting that James had very little in the house.  Her original plan had been to cook each day as needed, but now she decided to do a marathon effort. </p><p>Nell watched as James took the cigarettes out into his tiny overgrown garden.  He pulled a metal lawn chair over and sat with his back to her, a wreath of smoke around his head.   James still hadn’t taken his pain meds.  She could tell by the way he sat, still hunched over, his hand trembling a bit when he drew the cigarette to his lips.   </p><p>She filled a glass with water, shook a tablet into her palm and went out into the garden.  Nell didn’t say anything as she opened her hand and held out the water.  James took the tablet and knocked it and the water back in one long gulp.  Wordlessly, she went back to the kitchen.  </p><p>James' kitchen was well stocked with some lovely cooking equipment.  Nell coveted his copper clad stock pot and was tempted to steal the red Le Creuset casserole dish if he pissed her off again.  She might as well carry it out to her car now, she thought, as James would undoubtedly push her buttons before the hour was up.   She diced and chopped and prepped several meals at once.  </p><p>She made a shepherd's pie, a vegetable lasagna, a pot of soup and a chicken casserole.  It was only a matter of time before James tried to get her to leave.  She would fight him, but if the urge to flee got to be too much and she gave in, at least he’d have food.  </p><p>She went into the living room to ask James if he was hungry only to find him asleep, stretched out on his ridiculously long sofa.  Between the pain meds and the exertion of coming home from the hospital, he was exhausted.   Nell dropped a knitted throw over him. </p><p>She returned to the kitchen to make a pear tart for dessert and a batch of scones for breakfast.  At least James wouldn’t complain about the food.  He acknowledged that Nell was a marginally better cook than he was.  It was the only thing in which she surpassed him.  Intelligence, athleticism, musicality, spirituality, hard work and determination--he excelled in all of these.  So cooking was Nell’s claim to fame, and, of course, she won the grand prize for being dutiful.  She had proved herself willing, time and again, to put her own life aside to care for others.  This being the one area in which her brother had no interest in competing.</p><p>James woke late in the afternoon, one hand holding his midsection as he pushed himself into a seated position with a sharp gasp.  “Bugger,” he muttered.   He grunted as he got to his feet with the help of the cane, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and headed back to the garden.</p><p>“You don’t need to go outside,” Nell said as he passed by.  “This is your flat.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” James said over his shoulder as he pushed open the door and went outside to light a cigarette. He ignored the lawn chair and paced back and forth in the garden, leaning on the cane.  Nell wondered if he was restless or angry or both.</p><p>Later, they had an early dinner of vegetable lasagna and salad.  James complimented her on the food, and ate a modest amount, probably not as much as he would if he felt well.   He passed on the pear tart and when she wouldn’t let him help with the clearing and cleanup, he sprawled on the sofa and switched on the telly.   In spite of his long nap, James was dozing by the time she finished the dishes.</p><p>It was half eight when he bid her goodnight.   She heard the sound of the shower and then barely audible music from the bedroom.   Nell washed up and changed into pajamas before curling up on the sofa.  She fell asleep watching a home renovation show on the telly.  </p><p>Things settled into a tense pattern over the next couple of days.  James would become irritable when his pain level rose, which happened more often as he was under-medicating with his pain prescription.  He said they made him muzzy headed and drowsy.  It seemed to be a badge of honor to him that he went without them and suffered.</p><p>He ran out of cigarettes on the second afternoon and rather than ask Nell to buy more, he put on his coat and walked to the corner store.  She’d been mopping the kitchen floor and hadn’t noticed him leaving until she heard the sound of the front door latch and saw his note.  “Back in ten minutes.”  </p><p>It was closer to three quarters of an hour before James returned, gray-faced and shaking with exhaustion.  He struggled out of his coat, looking like he might pass out.  He dropped several packs of cigarettes on the coffee table before sinking onto the sofa.</p><p>“You look like shit, James!    Why the hell didn’t you just ask?”</p><p>“And suffer that look of disapproval?  That one, right there,” he said, pointing to her face.  </p><p>“It’s not disapproval.  It’s worry, if it’s anything.  It was days ago that you nearly died, James.”</p><p>Why did he keep forgetting this fact?  He’d missed the nail-biting hours of terror when he lay there unconscious, but she had lived through them.  Why did he have so little interest in his own recovery? Did he enjoy making her watch as he punished himself?</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said.  “Or I will be soon enough.  I’m grateful for all you’ve done, Nell, but you should go home now.”</p><p>A bitter laugh escaped her.  “Of course.  You want me out of here.  You’re always the one to leave and you can’t this time.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”  He gave her the look that always made her want to scream, the one that said she was completely batty. </p><p>“You’ve been bailing on me our whole lives, James.  It’s driving you crazy that you are stuck here and can’t walk off this time.”</p><p>“When have I ever bailed on you?  Do you mean when I went to school?  I was twelve.  It wasn’t my choice.”</p><p>“I know that.  I’m not daft,” she said.  The grown up Nell knows very well that James didn’t choose to leave.  But inside the grown woman is the seven year old Nell and she will not be silenced.   </p><p>“I idolized you when we were children.  Did you know that?   You must have thought me a pest, following you around like a puppy when you wanted to play with the big kids.”  She shook her head at the memory.   “But I thought you were the reason the sun rose in the morning and the moon shone at night.  You were the smartest, the strongest, the most beautiful person in my world.  It didn’t even matter to me that you hardly noticed my existence.  And then you were gone and we moved to a little flat and I went to a different school and nothing was the same.”</p><p>He looked at her for a long few seconds, the room quiet around them.</p><p>“Nell, you’re wrong thinking that I wanted to go,” James said, his voice rough.   “I hated it.  It felt like I was being sent away as a punishment.  I was the charity kid.  No matter how hard I worked, and how many awards I got or how well I did at games, I was never good enough.”</p><p>“I understand that now, of course,” she said.  “But back then, it was like the world ended.” </p><p>“I can’t explain, Nell, but a lot of things happened at Crevecoeur and you’re right--it was my fault that we had to leave.  So I guess the blame is with me, no matter how you look at it.”</p><p>“I know about the things that happened at Crevecoeur,” she said. </p><p>“How?”  James seemed stunned.   “You were just a little kid.  How...how do you know?”</p><p>“Mum told me,” she answered.  “Before she died.”</p><p>“I don’t understand.  Why would she do that?”  </p><p>“It was weighing on her.  She wanted to talk to you so much.  I think she wanted to ask for your forgiveness.  Why do you think I called you over and over, begging you to come home.  Damn it, James.  You kept putting me off and avoiding my calls and then when you came it was too late.  She was so far gone, she was barely conscious.  Before, when she felt herself slipping away, when she knew you weren’t coming, she told me what that monster did to you.  I think she had to talk to someone if she couldn’t talk to you.”</p><p>“Oh God,” he said, his head in his hands.  “I’m so sorry.”  The last was in a whisper.  </p><p>“Mum blamed herself for not catching on to what was happening sooner.  You know, she was the one that insisted we leave Crevecoeur.  Dad didn’t want to leave.  Working on the estate was all he knew.  He’d been doing it since he was a kid.”</p><p>Their mother had been so frail at the end, wasted away with cancer, and all she wanted was to see her son.  At the time, Nell had been enraged at him for leaving it too late.  Even the knowledge of what he’d suffered as a child couldn’t ameliorate that.  But now she couldn’t summon even a shred of anger against him.  She rested a hand on his back.  He was trembling.</p><p>“There is no excuse,” he said from behind his hands.  “I’d just joined the police and I was struggling to find my feet.  I blocked out everything else, like a child.  I would give just about anything to go back and ease her mind.”</p><p>“James, the only thing I know for certain is that Mum wouldn’t want you to be hurting like this.”  She moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.</p><p>“This is a terrible question, Nell, but did Mortmaigne ever hurt you?”</p><p>“No,” she said.  She felt his body sag with relief.  “Looking back, I think he was preparing me, though.  Giving me sweets and saying it was our secret, don’t tell mum.  But he never touched me.”</p><p>“Thank God,” James said, his voice breaking.  “I couldn’t bear it if I didn’t make him stop and he hurt you.”</p><p>“Make him stop?” She was incredulous.  “You were a kid. Kids don’t get to make anything stop.”</p><p>How many years had they lost?  How long had she railed in her heart against James for being selfish, for abandoning her?  How many years had he isolated himself out of shame?  All that pain on both sides because of things they couldn’t control as children.   </p><p>“I don’t want to have this wall between us, anymore,” James said.  She nodded against his shoulder.</p><p>“We’re all we have left, and I had a good view into what life would be like without you and I didn’t like it at all.”  Nell rose from the sofa and ruffled his hair.  “Hungry?  I could warm up some soup.” </p><p>“That would be nice,” he said. “And I don’t want you to leave.”</p><p>“Good, because I wasn’t leaving anyway.  This way we don’t have to fight about it.”</p><p>After lunch, they were both so worn out that they napped all afternoon.  The ridiculously long sofa accommodated them both, one at either end.</p><p>Four days later, James’ condition was much improved.  His doctor was pleased with how his wound was healing and his general health.   His smoking did not come up in the examination.</p><p>James had more stamina and his pain was now well managed with paracetamol.   He remained unsmothered and unbludgeoned.  His copper clad stock pot and red Le Creuset casserole were safely ensconced in his cupboard.   </p><p>James’ friends, Robbie and Laura, returned from New Zealand.  The timing was excellent as Nell needed to return to work soon.  They came bearing gifts: a truly frightening Maori statue that James loved and immediately set on the mantel, and a lovely abalone bracelet for Nell.  </p><p>Robbie and Laura were a revelation to Nell.  Her touchy, standoffish brother was a different person around them.  James seemed comfortable in his own skin in a way she’d never seen before.  He was warmer, he smiled more and he accepted Laura’s hug without a fuss.  Robbie and James lobbed banter back and forth like a tennis ball.  She understood what Lizzie Maddox had meant when she called them the Chuckle Brothers.  Nell was glad her brother had such friends.   She was a bit puzzled, though, when Robbie kept staring out the door into the garden.  </p><p>Robbie had arranged with work to come back on a reduced schedule for a few more weeks, and was able to check in on James and bring him to physio appointments.  With Robbie stopping over during the day, Nell returned home and went back to her own life.  </p><p>A few weeks later, she stopped in to see James.  He seemed genuinely happy to see her, which was a miracle.   The cane was a thing of the past and James looked better than she remembered seeing him in a very long time.  He seemed less at war with himself.</p><p>“I have something for you,” she said, handing him a wrapped package.  “In honor of our armistice.”</p><p>He smiled at her warily.  “I don’t hear ticking, so I’m thinking it’s not a bomb.”  He slipped the paper from the gift.  It was the picture of the two of them at the seashore.  </p><p>“Where was this photograph taken?” Nell asked.  “I remember the shore but I was pretty young.”</p><p>“Southend-on-sea,” James said, his voice thick with emotion.  “It was a good holiday, as I remember.  A small break in a terrible time. Thank you for this.”</p><p>“Hey, let’s take good care of the kids in the picture,” she said.  “We should be kinder to them because they deserve it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I recently watched the last season of Lewis and found the sibling relationship between James and Nell fascinating. Last year, my husband and his siblings and all of the respective spouses and grandchildren cared for their father, suffering with dementia, to the bittersweet end of his life.   This storyline really resonated with me.  We had a similar poster of photos to the one James creates for his father.  </p><p>As I watched these two characters, I thought to myself that there was a whole lot of childhood sibling drama playing out.  Nell’s anger was understandable.  So often one child is designated (or self-designates) as the caretaker and blame can crop up over who is not doing enough.  The pivotal scene for me was when Nell carries a heavy box into James’ apartment and he sits there smoking and reading and doesn’t help her.  This is a man who is unfailingly polite and considerate.  There had to be some stuff from way, way, way back that prompted that behavior.  This story is my way of figuring it all out.</p>
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